#john price x afab!reader

[as-is-above-so-below]

Cardigan - John Price x F!Teacher!Reader

Part 2: Midnight Rain

summary: you get yourself in a pickle a/n: hi! I return again! I'm sorry it's short, but I'm trying a new method of posting. Instead of aiming for a specific word count (which leads to me getting writer's block and not posting ANYTHING), I write until I'm satisfied with what I'm trying to achieve. Hopefully, I've achieved that goal, and y'all like it :) Blessed be! << Previous | Next >>

You drummed your fingers against the notebook in your lap and gnawed on the top of your pen. It was late, even by your standards; the sun had long since set, and dinner eaten hours ago. But you were up, sitting in the dark in your living room, heavy rain pelting your old windows. You were trying to pull together a new lesson plan for the following day. A few curious students had started asking questions about the modern military. Like, key differences between military strategies used in the time they were studying and today. And, of course, yet again, you made promises that you were struggling to keep. And you always keep your promises to your students.

Fuck.

The internet wasn’t helping at all. You didn’t study military strategy in any of your courses. Was that even a thing?

The last thing you wanted to do was call him. You were so confident that you could solve your problem yourself, at nine o’clock. Now, it was past midnight, and you were absolutely desperate.

Fuck.

Before your tired brain can flood with guilt and change its mind, you grab your phone from your nightstand and tap into your recent calls log. Your stomach churned, anxiety bubbling up with every trill. God, it’s so fucking late to be calling. It felt like you were split in two. One half of you was praying that his phone was on silent (you know it’s not) or he’ll sleep through the ringing (he won’t), while the other–the miserable, exhausted half–needed him to pick up.

The latter won out.

“Y/N? Are you alright?”

John’s deep, sleepy voice made you feel guilty and incredibly happy that you’d woken him up. Soft and grumbly, rolling in his chest; it made you feel soft and warm inside…

Not the point of the call.

“Hi, John. I’m completely fine, I just…” You took a deep breath, the heel of your free hand pressed into one of your dry, worn-out eyes. “I know you’re this big important captain, and you have work in the morning, but I’m in a bit of a pickle and need a massive favor.”

There was a slight rustling on the other end like he had turned slightly to check the nearby time. “It’s one o’clock in the morning, love,” he mumbled.

You felt even worse. “I know, I’m sorry. Please don’t hate me,” you begged, running a hand over the top of your head. “One of my kids asked about the military. It sparked a whole discussion in class, and I may have overstated my knowledge. I barely know anything about it, and my brain is turning to mush. I’m so tired I wanna cry, and-”

He quickly cut off your rambling. “Woah, hey. Slow down there. What’s going on?” he asked, suddenly sounding much more awake. 

That brought you pause. You honestly hadn’t thought what you would ask if John actually answered the phone through. It was one o’clock in the morning, which John had correctly pointed out, and your brain wasn’t operating at full capacity. 

“I was…wondering if you could give me a lesson. Because I’m super tired, and I like to hear you talk.”

“…You do?”

“Yeah. I’ve learned a lot from you just…talking to me? But I’m a history teacher. I’m an expert on wars, not war.”

There was some shuffling on the phone. On the other line, John was leaning over the edge of his bed, searching blindly for his little pocket planner in the pile of clothes on the floor. The rustling stopped when he placed the device on his pillow, rifling through the calendar. He sniffed and was quiet for a moment, while you nibbled anxiously at your pen. Again.

The silence finally broke with a tired sniffle from John. “I can do you better. Why don’t I come to your classes tomorrow?” he asked.

You froze, pen still between your teeth. John? Coming to your school? Spending the day with your students? That would be the equivalent of introducing your boyfriend to your children. 

“…Really?”

“Sure.”

Could you even call him your boyfriend? You’d been on a few dates, sure, over the last…two months? No, it was closer to three. Had it been that long already? You did some quick math in your head. You’d gone on about one date a week, with a few canceled due to last-minute commitments. Still, about one date a week, over three months…

Holy shit.

“John, I’m sure you’re busy. I couldn’t-”

“Not at all,” he hummed, cutting you off. “Besides, it would take me ‘til class tomorrow to give you a good enough rundown, and the boss loves shite like this.”

“I thought you were the boss?”

You could practically hear a small smile tugging at John’s lips. The expression was a familiar one. The corner of his mouth quirked up, shifting his beard and creating happy wrinkles near his eyes. His nose would scrunch up a bit, too, especially if you were out in cold weather. 

“Everybody has a boss, sweetness. Myself included.”

Christ. Not the pet names. And especially not in the tired, gravelly tone his voice was currently in. John Price was going to be the death of you, even in his unfocused state.

You unfolded your legs from underneath you and moved your notebook onto the coffee table. Your resolve was fading, and you couldn’t be bothered to argue. While you did feel bad about dragging John to your school to fix the problem you created, you weren’t sure you had any other option. Accept defeat? To a group of teenagers? Absolutely not. You’d never live it down. You sighed, rubbing tiredly at your eyes. “If you’re sure…”

“I am.”

A soft smile crossed your face. “Is this just a ploy to meet my kids?”

“Maybe.”

Your sleepy giggles were like music to John’s ears. The sound alone was worth the favor. As if he wouldn’t have done it anyway, just to ease your stress. He would take any and every opportunity to make your day easier or make you happy. What he wouldn’t give to hear that laugh in person, laying beside you in your bed–

No. John’s a good man. A gentleman, he would say. A man who was perfectly capable of not acting on his urges and thoughts. At least, not in person. However, in the privacy of his own home? That was a different story.

“Thank you so much, John.”

Right. You’re still on the phone. He heard a soft click on your end of the call.

“That’d better be you closing your laptop, I’m hearing.”

“It is.”

“Good girl.” You blushed furiously. Fuck. “Get some sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Goodnight.”

taglist: @novausstuff, @cutiecusp, @ittosbigfatmantitties, @helpimhyperfixating, @hihhasotherfixations, @dugiioh, @glitterypirateduck, @cringeycookies, @lethalchiralium

Copyright © 2023 as-is-above-so-below. All rights reserved.

[random0lover]

John Price Head Canon’s - dad edition (kinda)

This all occurs after mw2 so John is in his late 30’s… probably about a year after mw2 so he’d be like 38. 

Word Count: 1,582

Warnings: None I think, SFW, reader is AFAB, pregnancy is talked about, marriage, children, fluff, reader referred to as wife

⁃ okay so I don’t really think he wanted to have kids at first, mainly because of his job but he also hadn’t found anyone that he found worthy of settling down with. That was until he met you.

⁃ After many dates (cause this man is all about courtship) that spanned almost a year- only because of him being deployed- he knew that he wanted to marry you.

⁃ You ended up moving in with him- as his place was bigger than your own- about 8 months into the relationship.

⁃ It was after him coming back from a rough mission that he proposed (he had carried the ring around with him for about 3 months before he proposed). He had ordered your favorite food and you two had a picnic while watching the sun go down, you were lost in your thoughts when you looked over to find John down on one knee. 

⁃ (you were only “officially” together for a year when he proposed but you “dated” for 9 months before that)

⁃ He tried giving the whole spiel about how much he loved you and how he couldn’t see himself with anyone else but you interrupted him mid speech by launching yourself into his arms and smothering him with kisses.

⁃ It took three months to plan the wedding and it was a spring wedding.

⁃ It was a simple backyard wedding- you had insisted that you were fine with it and would rather spend money on buying a house than an expensive wedding- with just your close friends and family. 

⁃ It was that night when you both went back to your shared flat that you gave him a little rectangular blue box with a light pink ribbon tied around it. Inside were three positive pregnancy tests. You were about two months along then.

⁃ He honestly didn’t expect for y’all to have kids so quickly but he was insanely excited.

⁃ That night you both stayed up for hours doing some house hunting, trying to find the perfect place for your blooming family.

⁃ Five months later you and the rest of the task force was helping John carry boxes into your new home that was a two story farmhouse- five bedroom three bath- in the English countryside. It was on 10+ acres of land as he wanted plenty of room but he also wanted to make sure that you would all be safe, even when he couldn’t be there. 

⁃ Price is definitely a girl dad. I don’t care what anyone says. 

⁃ He went to every single doctor’s appointment that he could make it to and when he was called away for a month-long mission he almost had a heart attack but you promised him that you- and your little girl- would be absolutely fine. 

⁃ When he heard your little girl’s heartbeats for the first time he cried. The man almost never cried but when he heard the sound of yours and his daughter’s heartbeat he absolutely bawled and wasn’t ashamed one bit. 

⁃ During the whole pregnancy he tried to keep you off your feet as much as possible. He would run you baths- with all the soap and little herbs you wanted- when he noticed your back was bothering you and would often get in with you so he could give you full back massages. I also think that if you asked him to shave ~down there~ or your legs he would totally do it and not be bothered. You were his wife and he would do anything to make sure you were comfortable.

⁃ After y’all had moved into the new house he baby proofed absolutely anything that could be a danger to the new baby. You tried to explain that it didn’t need to be done for a while as the baby would mainly be sleeping and eating for the first few months but he didn’t care, he just wanted to be prepared. 

⁃ I feel like he would let you pick the names… he might come up with a few but he wasn’t really picky although i could see him preferably wanting more traditional names.

⁃ Once the baby was born he would do absolutely anything to help. He insisted on doing all the night feedings- since he was used to having a wonky sleep schedule because of his job- unless you happen to wake up and wanted to do it yourself. 

⁃ He made sure to always make time for you to have at least two hours to yourself. Whether you were showering or just reading a book, he knew it was important for you to still have some time to yourself. If you ever asked him to do anything he would be right on top of it no matter what he had been doing before you asked. 

⁃ Would not pressure you about sex at all. If anything he was more worried about you getting hurt than you were. Even after the doctor gave the okay he wanted to wait an extra two to three weeks just to make sure that you would be 100% comfortable.

⁃ After you had the baby he would tell you that you could become a stay at home mom if you wanted to. He made plenty enough money to provide for you and your growing family but he would leave it up to you.

⁃ I also firmly believe that he would want to carry your sweet girl everywhere and would love the little wraps that holds the baby to your chest and would have multiple colors so that he could match it to her outfit for the day.

⁃ MATCHING OUTFITS 

⁃ He would 100% buy a shirt that would match her onesies.

⁃ His first mission away from you both was absolute hell for him. It almost made him consider retiring early but he knew he needed to wait just a few more years. 

⁃ As time progressed you ended up having two more little girls. They were all two years apart. 

⁃ He ended up retiring when your oldest was 9, middle was 7, and youngest was 5. Making him in his mid to late 40’s.

⁃ After you had your second girl you had finally decided to become a full time stay at home mom as it was easier to do that then trying to keep a babysitter around. So when John retired it left you two at home alone when the girls were at school. 

⁃ This leads to the ~making~ of baby number four.

⁃ But this time it’s a little boy.

⁃ When I tell you this man was frozen for a hot second when he heard that you were going to have a son. He was honestly surprised. He kinda thought he could only produce girls lol. 

⁃ Before you had your son though he was completely content being a girl dad. He would take all of them separately on little daddy daughter dates. Complete with him coming to knock on the door with flowers and him admiring their cute little outfits. He wanted to show them the proper way they should be treated so that when they got older they would have insanely high expectations (cause let’s be honest this man is probably a god at being a gentleman). He honestly would do this until the day they told him they didn’t feel like doing them anymore. If that day would ever come I feel like he would cry into your arms later that night about his little girls getting older. 

⁃ As your son got older he would do the same with him but it would be more of just a father son bonding type thing. He would show him how to fix cars, protect any and all women, to be a gentleman, and if your son is into sports you could often find them outside practicing.

⁃ John Price would be the ultimate dad istg.

⁃ I feel like he would be the type of dad to make his kids feel comfortable enough to come to him about anything but he would also be stern when he needed to be. 

⁃ Self defense.

⁃ All of your kids would be trained on how to defend themselves properly by the time they were 13 but he would make them keep learning new things as they kept growing. He would also teach them how to use guns- including gun safety- just incase they absolutely needed to but would also teach them that it wasn’t the first thing to go towards in a heated situation.

⁃ Would be the type of dad to have a safety plan for every situation.

⁃ Trusts your kids to make good choices as he knows you both did your best to raise them right. 

⁃ Encourage all of them when they show interest in new hobbies even if it’s not something he would be interested in himself. 

⁃ Would totally be the loudest parent at any of their competitions. I could almost see him becoming a coach after retiring 🫣

I think that’s it for now… John would just be the best dad ever tbh. I love this man with my whole soul *dreamy sigh*

Requests are open but I can’t guarantee how fast things will be out.

Thanks for reading my loves <3

[random0lover]

Happy birthday love! I really want to make a Taylor Swift reference but I’ll keep it to myself 😂 anyways I hope you have an amazing day <3

This was really good though and the ending made me laugh lol

Give 'em hell. (Captain Price x Reader.)

TODAY IS MY BIRTHDAY AND I WANTED TO MAKE A STORY ABOUT MY ONE TRUE LOVE, CAPTAIN PRICE. 22 TODAY, PLEASE ENJOY THIS. ALSO THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCH FOR 1K FOLLOWERS.

!CW! NSFW, Smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, pollen sex, (my bad if I missed any.)

Summary: Reader and Captain Price get exposed to a weird chemical.

The mission was supposed to be simple. There was a terrorist who had killed a few soldiers, they needed to be taken care of. It wasn't a capture mission, he had no valuable information. Just a piece of shit wanting to kill people. He needed to be eliminated and that's how you and your Captain ended up on the mission. You were still somewhat new to the task force, so your Captain decided he'd take you along on this mission with him. Spend some time with you, get to know you and what skills you offer to the team. It was a good opportunity for experience.

So when he was giving you support from afar with a sniper rifle and you were sneaking in real close, despite his anxiety, the only words he said to you were "Give 'em hell." You showed him exactly what you were about. Skilled on takedowns, real quiet when you needed to be. He admired you. Sometimes he wonders what he did to form such a good team. Especially a team that seemed to get along and work together so well. When the compound he had watched you disappear into went silent, no sirens, no gunfire, nothing. He knew you had done the job. He slung his sniper around his shoulder and began the hike down the rocky hill to get to the building. Concerned by your silence. "Captain, you're going to want to see this." His heart started to beat a little harder in his chest after hearing his radio go off. He moves faster down the hill being careful not to fall, he didn't need any more old man jokes from Gaz.

He searches through the buildings and when he finds you, he finds you in a lab. "What's so important Y/N?" He asks. You pick up a paper, looking over it before nodding your head to follow him. Inside, there are massive vats of some kind of liquid. "What the hell is it?" He asks. "Some kind of.. weird sex drug." You laugh. "Some form of torture I guess." Captain Price looks at you concerned. "The bloody hell is wrong with these people?"

"You got me on that one." You laugh. "So.. How is it used as a form of torture?" He asks. "Well... The only way to cure it is to have unprotected sex, has something to do with the protein/peptide hormones in sperm that dilute it. The way it gets cured in women is if that sperm gets in contact with an egg. If you don't cure it, your blood pressure gets too high, heart starts pounding, and you eventually die of a heart attack." You spin the papers around, it's got a diagram on it. "Jesus Christ, that's evil. We've got to destroy this stuff." He says. You hear the sounds of bounding footsteps coming toward the both of you, and before either of you have any time to react, there's syringes in the both of you. Your Captain has drawn his gun and killed the assailant before you even have time to react. You grasp the syringe out of your neck, your Captain pulling one from his shoulder. "Was that.." You trail off. "Yeah. Yeah it was." He throws the syringe down, a sigh leaving his lips. "Fucking bloody hell, how much time do we have?" He asks. You pick the paper up off of the ground where you had dropped it out of fear. "Three hours." You sigh.

Captain Price sits down in one of the chairs in the lab. Taking out a cigar and his zippo. Lighting it. Your brain is foggy. What does this mean? Does this mean you both die? Neither of you can get to civilization soon enough for...

Does that mean you have sex with your captain?

"I'm gonna go get some fresh air." You take a deep breath walking out of the room and heading toward an exit. You shove the large metal door open and take a step into the cool night air.

It was the best time to attack.

You take in a deep breath, sitting down against the cool brick wall. This was fucking insane. Maybe he injected you with something else. Maybe it was some other kind of drug.

The swirling in your stomach told you otherwise, you were in denial. You were in quite the predicament. Have sex with your Captain or die. Literally fuck or die. Does he think he's going to die? Is that why he's just sitting there? Of course he wouldn't expect you to have sex with him, but he was your Captain, you couldn't let him die either. You had no other choice. You were already sweating profusely and you're sure your Captain felt the same as you. You start pep talking yourself as you walked back into the room he's sitting in. He's shed a few of his things. His vest is off and he's just got on an army green shirt. "I uh.. I really respect you, Sergeant. But.." He laughs. He looks down at the ground before looking back up at you. "I-I was just going to come back in here to say that I.." You laugh awkwardly. "I don't particularly want to die either." You breathe. He looks up at you. "Alright. I guess since we're on the same page. Let's figure out what the fuck to do." He stands up, picking up his stuff and walking over to the table. Picking up any paperwork that might be useful, motioning for you to follow him. You follow him outside. "Might want to take off any clothing you don't want getting ruined." He looks at you as he sheds some of his clothing and dog tags. You follow his lead, doing the same. Captain Price finds a shed that's full of all kinds of tools and construction items, finding a couple sledge hammers. He passes you one and you give him a look of confusion. "You can swing a sledge hammer right?" He asks. The way he throws the other up onto his shoulder, muscles fitting out his shirt so well. You nod your head, taking the other from him. You follow him back inside, going into the building with the massive vats of liquid. He takes the first swing, hammer knocking into the glass, shattering it and sending the water spilling out of the side, covering his clothes. It pools on the floor, covering your shoes. You take the next swing, hammer knocking into it, the same thing happening.

You repeat this until there's nothing left and Captain Price lights the last of his cigar, taking a hit and offering it to you. He flicks the last of it into the liquid and it lights on fire immediately. Filling the room and everything inside with flames. "Come on." He offers his hand to you. You take it, following him back outside as the building goes up in flames, admiring the work you both had done. "So.. You said that in order for the cure to work for women, the sperm has to come in contact with an egg. Unprotected sex. But.. doesn't that mean you end up.. Pregnant?" He asks. "Not sure to be honest. It doesn't say much else." You shrug. He nods his head. "I'm going to go scope out that building right there, you want to check out the other? See what else is inside?" You nod your head. "Yeah sure."

You part ways and John walks over to a truck. He opens the door and pulls the visor down, to his luck the keys come falling out. He starts it. Backing it up and adjusting it to where you can see the burning building from the back. He wanted to at least make the effort. Make this somewhat romantic for you. He goes inside the other building and looks for any kind of bedding inside, finding all kinds of blankets and pillows, bringing them down and laying them down in the bed of the truck. Once it's comfortable and everything is set up, Captain Price is struggling. His cock is rock hard in his jeans and he's sweating. Heart already beating hard in his chest. You emerge from the other building, smiling when you see what he's done. "What's this?" You ask. "Ah, just trying to make this more comfortable." The sky is full of stars, nobody is around. Burning building in the background. Perfect setting. He's sitting on the open tailgate of the truck, patting the spot next to him. "Your heart beating fast too?" He asks. You nod your head. He turns to look at you. Bringing his leg up onto the bed to turn more toward you. "You ready for this?" He asks. You nod your head.

He swallows hard, leaning into you. The burning in your lower stomach feels a slight amount of relief. Must have something to do with serotonin being released from your brain. He pushes your hair behind your ear, cupping the side of your face with his hand and leaning into you. When his lips meet yours, you feel dizzy. He pulls away almost immediately, eyes closed. "Fucking hell." He laughs. Lowering his head. "Feels fucking weird." He laughs. "Yeah it does." You laugh. "Good weird though." He leans back in, kissing you a little harder this time, deepening the kiss. You melt right into him, and even though neither of you have much of a choice, this somehow feels right. You move up into the bed of the truck, sinking into the blankets beneath you. He hovers over the top of you, kissing you again. He starts rolling his hips into yours and the moans slip from your lips unintentionally, he feels so good against you. He mumbles a few curses under his breath, he feels it too. He helps you remove most of your clothes, shedding his along the way too. Once you're fully naked and ready for each other, he lines himself up with your entrance. "Ah, Please." You pant. He sinks into you slowly, drawing a gasp from your lips. It's music to his ears.

Your eyes roll back when he starts thrusting into you at a quick pace. "I'm sorry if I'm rough- you just feel so good." He grits his teeth. "it's okay." You pant, looking down. You're watching him slide into the cavern between your legs, eyes rolling back at just how sexy it is. It's really starting to set in. You're having sex with your Captain. The Captain who you'd never had anything other than a professional relationship with. The Captain who up until just a couple hours ago you would've considered a friend. Now, dick buried up inside of you. Ready to fill you, potentially knock you up with his kid, and he's okay with it. You don't know that yet, but he's cool with it. He's always wanted to be a dad and you're a real pretty girl anyways. You'd look real cute round with his baby. He kisses you hard, hips plowing into yours as he fucks into you. "You're real beautiful you know?" He groans. Having trouble with an unsteady voice from trying to hold back the moans that desperately want to leave his lips. "I've thought you were real pretty for while, didn't think it'd turn into anything." He chuckles. "I couldn't have been more wrong huh." He smirks. "Guess so. I just.. you're my captain. It's just-ah!" A moan leaves your lips and he smiles. "You can call me John." He leans down, taking a harder thrust than the last. A moan leaving your lips. "Or moan it."

He speeds up his thrusts a little, feeling that familiar pit in his stomach. He's ready for it. Ready to claim you. Fill you up with his cum. You're clutching onto the blankets hard, legs resting up on his thighs. He's got the perfect angle, sliding right into the spongy spot inside of you, sending swarms of butterflies shooting through you. Something about the drug you're on. It's intensifying the pleasure. The dog tag he'd picked up and put on again at some point dangles in your face and the mental image you have of him is filthy, thrusting into you, the truck rocking with every hard thrust he takes. The deep rattle in his chest from his groans. It's too much and it overwhelms you immediately. Your high is creeping up on you quickly and so is his. You glance up at the sky, seeing all of the stars. Your eyes are getting increasingly blurry, your orgasm was right there. "John, I'm gonna cum!" You cry out. He lowers his hand, rubbing circles into your clit. Your mouth parts. Looking up into the sky. "Fuck, me too sweetheart." He groans. His thrusts start to get a little sloppy, he's chasing that high. He keeps rubbing at your clit, sending you into your orgasm. Tears fill your eyes. It's so much, the most pleasure you've ever experienced before. A gasp leaves his lips when he hits his own orgasm. Just then, the blazing building behind him collapses, sparks bellowing off of the rubble. His hips come to a sharp halt. He relaxes into you. Panting hard.

He slides out of you, moving to lay next to you, pulling one of the blankets over the both of you. You're watching the stars and seeing the building slowly burn out. Within the hour, both of you no longer feel the effects of the drugs that had been injected into you.

The next morning, it's cold when you stir awake because he is moving. He's sitting on the tailgate again and you pull the blanket up over you as you sit up. The building is nothing but ashes, still smoking. The wind is blowing just a little and it's still pretty dark. "Made it through the night." He smiles. "Yeah.. we did." You laugh. "Hell of a story." He smirks. "Yeah.. I'd say. Suppose we won't say that to our kid." You chuckle. "If there is one anyways." You lay back down. "I hope so." He mumbles under his breath, making your eyes widen. "What?"

"What?"

[majinbangus]

Silly thought but-

Wearing a fit with no pockets, you have no purse, no nothing to carry your phone, but that's okay because your man said he'll carry it in his pocket, he has more than enough space in those jeans of his. He tells you you don't need to bring your wallet either. Today's all on him.

So he's out treating you to some shopping (gotta spoil his love and all). You're at the register, looking cute while he's digging in his pocket to pay. He can't find his wallet. That's okay, he'll check his other pocket. Still no wallet. Alright, he's starting to get upset with himself. Did he really forget the one thing he needed for today? He promised you he would take care of everything. Take care of you.

He pats himself down once, twice, thrice, but still nothing. He forgot his wallet at home. He's about to curse himself out and apologize to you for bringing you out for nothing, but then you put a placating hand on his bicep, squeezing with a sweet smile he doesn't deserve, telling him it's alright. And just when he's about to rebuff that, you- you-

You reach into the front of your shirt, fingers dipping between your breasts, and pull out your credit card, making quick work and paying for the things he should be paying for, before he can react.

You put your card back in your bra and grab your bagged items, smiling at him, telling him you want to eat at that new restaurant down the street. He doesn't snap out of his haze until you're tugging at him.

Grumbly and grunting, he snatches your bags outta your hand, mumbling something about you not lifting a finger and promising to make it up to you for forgetting his wallet and making you pay for your day out, the day he was supposed to spoil you rotten. But he sucks up his indignation because you're smiling and happy to be spending the day with him, and that's all he really wanted.

He would have also promised a light punishment because how dare you presume you would have to pay for anything when he was there to take care of you, but since he did in fact forget his wallet, he was willing to let your transgression go. Just this once. He would not be forgetting his wallet ever again, and you would not have to worry about paying a dime for anything you ever needed or wanted while he was around.

-

reader ftw with the bra as a pocket hack

[tojisun]

ex-husband price still swings by when your kids and your new boyfriend are out, by the way, to fuck you. he says it's all a quick check and that there's no feelings attached to this, but when he's got you in a mating press or a full nelson, punching his cock in-and-out of your gushing and squelching cunt, he makes you say you love him. when your mind is fried with straining pleasure, and your eyes are crossed, he noses along your ear and murmurs, "look how much more honest y'r poor cunt is. s'all puffy and squirtin'. missed me lots, don't it?"

he slaps your clit, heavy palm striking in quick successions. you howl, pleasure and biting pain razing you, and all john does is muffle his chuckles on your shoulder, his eyes crinkled in his delight.

(and if he timed it well, your boyfriend should be home soon.)

[the-californicationist]

he opens the mail

Captain Price opens a package, thinking it’s intel, but it’s a sex pollen. The only cure? Your pussy, apparently.

Warning: sex pollen tropes, extremely dubious consent, attempt at satire?, angry john price

“We’re never going to make this deadline. Laswell’s gonna kill me,” you complained, burying your head in the pile of envelopes and packages strewn over your desk. 

“Did this to yourself, lass. Shoulda been keepin’ up with intel duty. Wee bit at a time, ‘s what I say,” Soap patted you on the shoulder, feigning pity. 

You spent hours combing through the documents, and by the time everyone had gone to bed, your fingers were covered in paper cuts, and your vision was blurry from squinting at the poorly scrawled Cyrillic words. 

You thought you were alone, and as you stood up to stretch and refill your coffee mug, Captain Price opened up the office door, scaring you half to death. 

“Oh, hey Corporal,” he smiled and then furrowed his brow, “What are you still doing here?”

You sighed, pointing to the piles of documents,

“Laswell’s intel backlog. I’m the only one with a Level 3 linguistics cert for Russian, so here I am. Gonna be an all-nighter.”

He closed the door and sat down across from your seat, digging into the pile, 

“I’m Level 3. Let’s finish it.”

“Captain, you don’t have to do that. I’m sure you’ve got more important things…”

Price shook his head, taking off his hat and hanging it on the chair back,

“Nah, tha’s alright, love. I’ll help ya. Get us a tea, yeah?”

You knew how he took his tea, and you hated that you did. Secretly, you were obsessed with him. He was always around, smelling like balsam wood and tobacco, looking like a gladiator, huge and capable in the most masculine way. It was hard to concentrate when he was nearby. Now that he had offered to help, you had to grin and bear it. 

You worked together for a while, chatting, even laughing. It was nice. You had so much in common, the conversation flowed easily, and you found yourself much more at ease. Finally, three packages remained. You opened the first one and found little more than phone records for a local library. Unhelpful to say the least. Price opened a water bill, and he recognized the address of a recent Konni base location. Any intel at this point felt like a celebration. Then, the final box. 

“Go on then. Show us the ending,” he smiled, handing it to you. 

“Couldn’t take the joy of ripping up the last letter, Captain. Be my guest,” you smiled. 

He chuckled, tearing into the envelope. In a flash, bright pink powder sprayed him directly in the eyes, and he writhed in pain, pinching them shut, his whole body going stiff. 

“Fuck me!” He shouted. 

“Hang on,” you ran over to the sink in the kitchenette, “Here’s some water. Get that shit out of your eyes.”

“Don’t,” he moved away from you like you were on fire, “Don’t touch me. Might be contagious.”

Your chest was rising and falling with your labored breathing, and you were immediately worried. You reached for your phone and called Laswell.

“Laswell, Price got anthraxed by one of the intel letters. What do you want us to do?”

She gasped, 

“What? Shit. I’m on my way.”

She hung up on you. You watched Price slowly try to open his eyes. They were stained hot pink from the powder. 

“You alright?” You asked him. 

“Yeah, love,” he sighed, “Doesn’t hurt anymore. Feeling strange though. Laswell said she’s coming?”

You nodded,

“Yeah, just in case.”

He nodded, running his hand along the inside of his collar. The captain was sweaty and a little pale. 

“Captain, are you okay?”

“Mmm, no,” he shook his head, “Something’s not right, love.”

He stood and went to the sink, washing as much of the powder off as he could. You moved away from him and stationed yourself across the room, praying for Laswell to hurry. 

Price was in a bad way. He took off his shirt, and he was still dripping with beads of sweat. You tried not to stare, but his temperature wasn’t the only thing heating up. His huge cock was making a prominent tent in his pants, but he was in too much pain to bother hiding it. You felt yourself blushing, and you willed yourself to pull it together. 

“…fuckin’ hell,” his hand went to his crotch to squeeze his length, trying to find some relief, “Sorry, love.”

“It’s okay,” you said politely, trying to breathe normally, but feeling the slick rush melt between your legs. 

“It’s makin’ me…feel…bloody hell. I can’t hold it off. Can…can you…? No! No, what the fuck am I sayin’? No,” he shook his head, rubbing his hands down his face, hot and very bothered. 

You inched closer to him,

“If I haven’t been affected yet, I’m sure it’s okay. How should I help you?”

“No! No, stay back. I’m not…I can’t think straight. My mind’s got one thing on it,” he shoved his hands beyond his zipper and began to jerk himself off, his dick making lurid noises with his hand. 

You hated seeing him so helpless. You moved to his side,

“Cap, it’s okay. Let me help you.”

His hand was around your throat in milliseconds. Price shoved you against the wall and began to kiss your mouth, furiously laving his tongue against yours. 

“No, no, no,” he whispered through his kisses, not bothering to pull away as he spoke his lamentations. 

You made the mistake of putting your hands on his chest to steady yourself. He moaned, trembling beneath your touch,

“Ahh, careful.”

“Sorry,” you pulled your hands away, still trapped in his firm grip around your neck, “did I hurt you?”

“No, doesn’t hurt.”

He said it in a way that darkly implied your touch was igniting a different kind of fire. You put your hands back where they were, and his eyes shot open, piercing through yours with a lustful rage. Unexpectedly, he ripped off your shirt and lay you down on the black leather couch in the corner of the office. He crushed you with his weight, kissing you deeply. 

Then, your phone rang. He didn’t allow you to pause, so it went to voicemail. It rang again. You were getting just as hot as he was, and you weren’t that interested in who was looking for you in the middle of the night. Until, however, the door to the office burst wide open and Laswell and Gaz burst through it. 

Price snarled. You’d never heard a man make that noise before. Laswell put her hands on her hips while Gaz tried to shield his face in shock. Laswell rubbed her forehead, frustrated,

“Are his eyes pink, Corporal?”

You escaped his jaws for a moment, 

“Yeah, why?”

“It’s a sex drug. Forces the user to fornicate as it is only passed through the body in seminal fluid, dissolving in the heat of another person’s body. Are you volunteering here? What happened?”

Her tone was so matter of fact, it was a little humorous, if Price’s length wasn’t rutting against you in earnest, you might've laughed. You tried to explain as much as he would allow,

“Got too close… just… happened. How…” you moaned as Price pulled down the strap of your bra and helped himself to your nipple, “How did you know?”

She sighed, typing something into her datapad,

“Checked the incident log from this afternoon. Four more cases of this have popped up in intel collections. Gonna have to screen for it next time.”

She turned to walk out of the office with Gaz, and you called after her,

“Hey, wait! How long does it - oh, fuck… how long does it last?”

Laswell had the audacity to smirk at you, raising her eyebrows and cutting her eyes at Price’s swollen cock, lolling out of his pants, scraping itself against you. 

“Eight hours. Looks like you’re in for a rough night, Corporal. Maybe next time you’ll be more careful.”

Part 2

[iifishizzleii]

“you’re just so small :(“ “he doesn’t want to hurt ur tiny body” “his fist is bigger than your womb” “his hand is the size of your entire stomach” “:( small baby no hurt by big man soldier”-

eeughhhaa🤨

brotha eeughhhaa🤢🤢🤢👹👹🤕🤒🤒🤮🤧

[kittsch]

ranking cod boys' intimacy style from gentle to rough feat: 141 + los vaqueros + others reader: afab, implied different readers for each cw: explicit smut, kink, fluff, pretty tame imo but lmk if you'd like something tagged NSFW BELOW CUT * MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

1.) the gentlest, surprisingly, is ghost. make no mistake, he'll absolutely fuck the daylights out of you if you ask him to -- would enjoy it, too. but as simon riley... honestly, this man is touch-starved and nearing forty. he is tired, baby. coming home from deployment, first thing simon does is shower (knows you hate the smell of war on him), then take a fat nap with you. if you're in the middle of something, no you're not. he'll literally scoop you up and fireman-carry you to the couch or bed, whichever is closest. simon loves holding you, wants to be touching you all. the. time. his favorite way to nap is wrapped around you like a fitted sheet; skin on skin, nose in your hair as he breathes in the scent of your shampoo. loves it even more when, later, he gets to wake you with soft, open-mouthed kisses on your neck; the flat of his palm sliding down the gentle swell of your tummy, cuping you through your sleep shorts. simon likes you best like this. how you just... melt into him, still sleep-sodden and docile. it's one of the few things that feels right in his life. chemically, cosmically, karmically (somehow--simon doesn't think he'll ever feel like he earned this. you. that he'll ever really deserve to be yours). he takes his time; fucks you slow with his fingers, savoring your muted whimpers as he grinds into your clit with the heel of his hand. to simon, watching you come apart in the firm circle of his arms is kin to a fresco on a ceiling; a sliver of the divine, and he, a sinner, doomed to watch heaven from afar. but by some small miracle, you offer him salvation. when you cum, it's with his name on your lips, so round and lush with love, and fuck--if that isn't the thing to save him, then nothing will.

2.) second is rudy. sweet, sweet boy. he sees you barefoot in a sundress one time. one. that's all it takes to precipitously shift the trajectory of his life to one where he wifes you up and makes you a mother, in that order. you're the first person he's ever envisioned having children with -- the only one he thinks knows will be worth risking everything for. and once that mental picture settles in his mind, it’s all he can think of. it becomes his sole mission to get you under him and fill you with him til it takes. rudy is a missionary guy through and through--wants to see that pretty face, cariño so he can watch your cheeks and chest flush when you're about to cum. and the cute way your lashes flutter ("como alles de pollila, mi amor. fuck--") as he bottoms out in your sweet pussy, stretching you so good. and you're always so good for him -- wrapping your legs around his waist and tilting your hips to take him deeper, deeper. but god help you when he succeeds in knocking you up, you’re never getting a moment alone. consider rudy glued to your side for the foreseeable future. can’t seem to keep his goddamn hands to himself, either. doesn't matter that you’re uncomfortable and prickly and prone to random bouts of inconsolable crying at the worst moments. he takes it all in stride. his love is steady, solid. once, you blurt out something to the effect of i'm never going to be attractive again, my body is gonna be ruined by the end of this. and rudy (after a beat) laughs. pulls you forward til your face is buried in his chest, cradles you there when you try to squirm away. tells you he's literally so attracted to you right now he feels like he should be on some sort of list. he's watching you build a new human being inside your body. you're fucking powerful. he can't imagine anything sexier.

3.) next up is könig. from jump, he adores you; the way you smolder at the edges, the unwavering bite of your tone. kleine katze, such pretty claws you have... and he's perfectly content to settle for admiring you from afar; but where others shy from him instinctually, finding his size and perpetual quiet off-putting, you don't. seem to gravitate towards him because of it. you touch him with a gentleness that should feel foreign, but actually feels like home. this man is fucking gone for you. loves you in a way that irreparably and fundamentally changes him. may or may not have cum more than once to the thought of you: hips bucking desperately into the clench of his own fist. but he knows precisely nichts about romance, even less about flirting. has no idea you've been trying to get his attention for months. ultimately, you have to make the first move. and you do--crawling into his lap one night in a grimy off-grid safehouse after a mission went the wrong kind of sideways. when you draw up the mask he goes rigid, tense; but he almost lost you today. (thought for one endless, horrific moment that he had.) so he lets you pull back the mask--lets you see his face. and when you finally kiss him, it pulls a kind of sound out of him the likes of which he's never made before. a desperate, animal keen that claws at the walls of his chest. and könig's a gentle giant, but he is giant. you're both too hasty the first time; too desperate for closeness to prep properly, so it hurts when he bullies his cock inside you. he's significantly bigger than any of your previous partners -- twice as thick and several inches longer -- and by all rights shouldn't fucking fit inside you, but you're both tenacious enough to make it work. könig is certain salvation resides in the gummy clutch of your cunt when you take him to the hilt; shuddering as you cum around him from nothing but the way his cock stuffs you full and the pressure of his calloused thumb on your clit. it's so unbelievably hot, he cums on the spot; not needing friction or movement when he has you clenching down on him like that, scheiße. after, he takes care of you--holds you close to his chest til your breath evens out and you slip into the dreamless, black pool of sleeping.

4.) alejandro, my love. truly a man of passion. it's a long process seducing you, and he enjoys every minute of it. loves finding new ways to get you to blush almost as much as he enjoys fucking you til you're blubbering and cock-stupid. almost. he likes the idea of having a family with you, but is less pernicious about it than rudy. he knows how he feels about you; is confident it'll happen someday. that said, this man's breeding kink knows no bounds. the mating press was built for him; the perfect mix of intimacy and intensity, where he can look you in the eye as he ruts you so deep you can feel him in your fucking throat. also the most likely to suggest expanding your sexual horizons. frankly, alejandro is bisexual as fuck. loves the idea of you getting railed by another man (perhaps rudy, winkwonk) while he watches; loves the idea of you taking the both of them at once even more, but it's always about you. your comfort and pleasure is paramount, and he'll go to unfathomable lengths to make sure your needs are met. happy wife, happy life, he says, hauling you into a deep kiss when you point out that you're not technically married, yet.

5.) alex is the perfect equilibrium of rough and gentle. initially respects you as a colleague, maybe a friendly acquaintance. internally, he finds your competence and no bullshit attitude deeply attractive, but he's a consummate professional; would never put you into a position where you'd feel unsafe (outside of the obvious dangerous shit you already do). and then--he sees you shoot a gun. the way your body slides liquid-smooth into weaver, the easy roll back into isosceles in the recoil... it gets him so fucking hard so fucking quick. he has to physically remove himself from the range and rub one out in a bathroom stall, images of those firm hands pumping his weeping cock pulling him over the edge. images that don't fade, to his chagrin, even after the initial arousal is dealt with. every time he sees you, it just... pops back up, so to speak. he keeps it locked down as best he can, but fails pretty comprehensively at doing so. alex finally breaks after catching one too many recruits staring after you when you walk away (fuckin' animals--only he's allowed to do that). he seeks you out when you're both off the clock and ends up fucking you on top of one of the washing machines in the base's communal laundry room. the epitome of soft dom, comes pre-programmed with an obligatory daddy kink that you absolutely abuse to get your way. takes you out to nice restaurants seemingly for the express purpose of fucking you in the fancy-schmanzy bathroom. honest-to-god almost passes out when you choke on his cock for the first time; begs like his life is on the line for you to do it again, please, please--oh, fuck baby, yes. that experience reveals two truths to him: one, that he might be a switch, and two, that he might just have to marry you.

6.) now, keegan is a pretty tough nut to crack. it's hard to read him initially, even without the mask--but once you pick up on his tells, he's an open book. and that book wants you upended on the couch within seconds of you both entering the room. initially its just sex; a shared need to vent some frustration and stress. keegan is very private, mostly due to social discomfort and introverted tendencies. in the early days of your relationship, it manifests as him keeping you at a distance. for the first few months, he only ever kisses you when he's balls deep, and leaves after a five-minute come down. you rectify this through sheer persistence and charm. it's clear to you (far sooner than it is to him) that he's weakest to you when you give him big, sweet doe eyes and ask real pretty. this little trick works particularly well when you're riding him slow over the course of an hour, grinding down each time he bottoms out, til he's shuddering and begging you to please go faster--ah. f-fuckin' hell, kid, you're so tight, so good, fuck. when he cums, it's with a crackling whine of your name that pulls the knot of heat in your belly, sending you over after him. then, exhausted and fucked out, he falls asleep with you in his arms. he's still there the next morning when you wake, expression open and lax as he watches you wake. it's the first time you see keegan without reservations, when you realize he's got a gentleness to him--a kind of poet's sensitivity meant for libraries, museum archives, and the kinder side of nature. all overwritten by force to survive, to complete his mission. once you've seen the cracks in his mask, there's no going back for either of you. very quickly, your relationship shifts from distant and transactional to deeply personal; a tenderness blooming in the same garden as the newfound dedication to one another. keegan doesn't say I love you for a long time, but you know he does--you feel it in the way his dark eyes find you in a crowd, always seeking your familiar shape. you feel it in the way he presses your bodies flush from tip to tail while he's fucking you, when being inside of you isn't close enough. you feel it when he, for the very first time, asks you quietly if you'll stay the night with him, because he sleeps easier when you're there. so you stay--the night, and all those that follow.

7.) oh, gaz. such a mischievous little shit. your friend from your training days, you two scrap like puppies over anything and everything. banter is the cornerstone of your relationship, one-upping being a close second. you delight and infuriate one another in equal measure, bickering amongst yourselves til one of you takes a swing at the other. price has reprimanded you both multiple times for horsing around, but you're never in any real danger--you work too well together. there's a kind of shared consciousness between you; a base-level understanding, two wolves hunting in tandem. still, ghost refuses to let either of you sit together on the heli; not since that one time your game of grabass devolved into full-on grappling on the tarmac. ultimately, one of your little tiffs goes too far; ends with you both laid out on a training mat, groaning into each other's mouth as you grind your hips together through your clothes. you both pretend it didn't happen for maybe a week--then it happens again. and again. and again. being 'together' is never something you actually discuss with kyle. it just... happens. much to the chagrin of your lt and captain, the bickering actually increases when you two get together; becomes more like foreplay you can get away with doing in front of your superiors. and if this man isn't an absolute goddamn menace when it comes to exhibitionism. when he wants you, doesn't matter if you're in the middle of a meeting. fuck it--it's happening, and it's happening now. very playful in and out of the bedroom, likes teasing you in every sense of the word. he edges you so long sometimes you nearly kick him in the head when he finally lets you cum. there's my girl--oh shi--ah, haah, good fuckin' girl. he's largely aloof when it comes to his emotions--not the best at verbalizing how he's feeling or what he needs. so instead, he shows you. he shows up every. single. time. kyle's your friend before he's your lover; your partner in (war) crime(s). he's always got your six, you've always got his, and what is love if not someone who'd die (and live) for you?

8.) soap proudly describes himself as a pleasure dom, which is mostly true. but he's got serious switch potential. which you know for a fact because fuckin' hell, does that boy whimper somethin' pretty when you throat him juuuuust right. he's such a 'tits' man, it's crazy. loves to hold you close, feel your breasts smashed against his chest while he drives deep into the tight clutch of your cunt. but most of all, soap loves being on his knees for you. this man definitely moans while he eats you out, tonguing your pussy like it's a mouth. he feels big in every sense of the word--in sex, in love, in anger. and make no mistake, he loves you deeply. you two have some serious yelling matches, storm about slamming doors til the neighbors threaten to call the feds, but it's just your way. you're both headstrong and stupid; arguments are bound to happen, and any unresolved hurt feelings get a solid patch-job from the frankly earth shattering makeup sex that follows. like rudy, soap wants a big family with you, and he knew early. actually doesn't tell you just how early til years down the line. how after your first official date, he called his ma and asked if she'd send his nan's ring, please? because he's pretty sure he just met his future wife. said ring which glitters on your hand now, as you reach over and flick his forehead teasingly. tell him he can stop trying to romance you, you're already married. and could he grab more diapers on his way home from work?

9.) as are all things with graves, your sexual relationship is about power. he's an asshole in the worst way--condescending, smug, underhanded, sneaky in his sexism so you always look like some hysterical woman when you retaliate. the kicker? it turns you on as much as it pisses you off. he's happy to string you along, work you into a lather just to leave you high and dry. lord help you once he gets a taste of you--bending you over his desk and cramming you full of his cock with precisely zero prep. he kisses you, loves you, fucks you like he hates you. because he kind of does--he just wants you more. graves loves it when you cry, wipes your tears with his thumb before forcing it into your mouth. coos when you offer your neck up to him--yeah? want my hands on ya that bad, sugar? gonna be a good girl for me, hm? fuck yeah you are--and proceeds to make you cum so hard you black out. your 'relationship' (which it is; ring on your finger a year in, a little one on your hip not long after) is intense. toxic. would be just downright miserable if it wasn't so fucking hot. you cling to each other with gouging force; a livid-blue kind of love, painful and permanent. he carries a picture of you in his wallet: a small polaroid of you in your wedding dress, ashing a cigarette with one hand while the other flips the cameraman (him) the bird.

10.) and the roughest of them all: price wants more than to love or fuck you -- he wants to possess you. he's so tightly controlled everywhere else in his life (has to be for his work), doesn't seem the type to lose his head over a bird. but when he meets you, something shifts. you're soft. impossibly good. flippant and stubborn as a mule, sure -- you drive him up the fuckin' wall with your headstrong antics. (so goddamn petulant. so sure you're fuckin' right.) but war and death hasn't stained your world, left your indomitable spirit unsullied and intact. which, unfortunately, means you haven't gotten a thorough education on the importance of discipline. price wants to consume your disobedience; crack your rose-tinted glasses under his heel, roll the ambrosia of you in his cupped tongue. he'll do more than make you fall in line -- he'll make you want to do it. it's really just a matter of time before he acts on it. when he does, it's decisive. unsubtle. he crowds you up against the door of your flat on a sticky summer night, brandy on your breath. sinks a hand into your hair, holds you steady as he brings your mouths together with bruising intensity. he fucks you before he ever makes love to you; sinks his teeth into the velvet of your shoulder as he crushes you flat to the tabletop using just his bodyweight. snarls low when you keen wordlessly, overwhelmed and empty-headed at the deep burn-sting of his cock stretching your pretty little cunt, the lewd slap of his thighs against your ass. he batters you til you're not sure what's sweat and what's tears; til your skin bears a mural to his cacoethes, all blue and purple like a deep west sunrise. til there's not a person alive who won't be able to see you're his. always have been, always will, right dove? go on--tell him. tell him who this pussy belongs to.

written by kittsch, do not repost. not to be used for bots nor AI of any kind.

[as-is-above-so-below]

Cardigan - John Price x F!Teacher!Reader

Part 1: It Starts In A Bar

summary: your friends take you out to a local pub when you would much rather be grading assignments. a/n: hello! big surprise, me writing for john price! I don't know how long this will be, but I definitely have a general idea of where I want this to go. I hope y'all like it!

thank you @lethalchiralium for dragging me into the clubhouse kicking and screaming LMAO << Previous | Next >>

Why did they pick this place again?

Ah, right. “It’s a hometown pub, a staple to the community,” they said. That was clear from the couple dozen men and women, ranging from middle-aged to elderly, scattered about, and a few younger folks peppered into the crowd. It wasn’t run down by any means, just…a dive. You mindlessly picked at the peanuts and pretzels in little bowls, elbows perched on the edge of the sticky table, for hours. You chatted and occasionally laughed at the stories they shared about their homeroom students and the shenanigans the other grades got up to. You’d been teaching year thirteen for a while, students taking their A-levels in history. 

It was supposed to be a quiet evening, spent with a stack of papers to grade, surrounded by glowing candles scattered around your apartment accompanied by soft white string lights stretched across the ceiling. Instead, your friends somehow managed to drag you out of your cozy home to a dark dive in town. You loved them dearly (really, you did), but you had a routine. Your ideal Friday night wasn’t in a damp bar.

Your kids could be challenging at times in their late teens. They occasionally cause trouble, known for getting into fights, interrupting class, or bringing drama into the classroom. Nevertheless, you’d never had a set of students that was more than you could handle. They turned their work in on time and were always nosy about your personal life, which – much to their chagrin – was uneventful. Your love life was stale, to put it nicely. And your friends tried everything in their power to set you up on dates, every single one striking out miserably. It didn’t feel natural to meet some guy at a restaurant for a blind date.

One of them talked about themselves the entire time, barely letting you get a word in. The next ordered about three more drinks than you and a meal that cost twice as much as yours but demanded you split the cost of the date. You were all for splitting the bill but on the first date? Not a good impression.

The rest were uninteresting and immemorable.

“Seriously? You haven’t been on a date since – Oh, what was his name again?”

“Zachary,” you pointed out, taking a long sip of your drink. “You should know; you set up the date.”

“I know, I know. I didn’t realize he was such a bore one-on-one.”

“Thanks for that, by the way. Loved talking to myself for two hours.”

You all laughed at the memory, starting to finish drinks and gather belongings. “Let’s get to the next spot to find you a man!”

Bar hopping was the absolute last thing you wanted to do, but you knew better than to resist. It would all be over much faster if you just went along. Your companions were much quicker on their exit, considering the nearly-full drink that you felt like you just bought, and they were already moving on to the next dig. You threw the rest of your drink back, flinching as the big gulp of alcohol burned down your throat, and hurried to catch up with them. You took one of their outstretched hands, giggling as they just about pulled you into the circle exiting the pub–

“Excuse me, miss!” a deep voice called out. You’re not sure why, but you turned, feeling like the man was calling out to you. Your assumption turned out to be correct, and a tall, dark-haired man with a beard and a soft smile approached you. “Sorry, you left this.”

He held your cardigan to you. You must have abandoned it in your haste.

“Oh! Thank you so much. That’s kind of you,” you said, taking the garment back and draping it over your forearm. “I’d forget my head if it weren’t attached,” you added, tapping your temple with a soft chuckle.

“Quite alright.” Behind you, an elbow nudged your spine; you barely caught yourself from making a face and snapping at whichever acquaintance decided to egg you on. “I’d offer to buy you a drink, but it seems you’re heading out.”

He certainly was handsome. His beard was well-groomed, just like his hair. It looked like he went to a barber fairly recently. He even dressed well, in a cream, ribbed polo tucked loosely into his jeans. Dark chest hair peeked out where the top two buttons were undone. It was an enticing offer…

“Um, yeah, but….” You looked over your shoulder and met expectant glances. Some looked like they were about to bust apart at the seams with glee, which made you roll your eyes. Clearly, you wouldn’t be missed. “I could hang for a little while longer.”

The man's smile grew, and his stance shifted to open a path toward the bar. “Are you sure? Y’don’t have to,” he amended, his hands in his pockets. His energy was warm and soft but still masculine. He held a confidence that not many people carried, at least not the men you’d been on dates with recently. And the Liverpool accent? Maybe things were starting to look up.

“No, no, I honestly need another drink.” You flashed your teeth back to him, folding your arms over your chest with your sweater in hand.

“In that case, after you.”

Before taking his arm, you realized you’d yet to even ask for his name. “Thank you…?”

“John.” John’s right hand hovered before you and he flashed his bright teeth. His hands were clean, nails neatly trimmed. Although, one nail bed was bruised.

Man, he’s pretty for a grown man.

“Y/N,” you replied with an easy grin. He kept a steady hold on your gaze, carefully examining the bright twinkle they held. You didn’t know it, but John had just returned from a long mission. One that had left him yearning for a shower, a haircut, and somebody to come home to. He’d never had anything to look forward to and stay alive for; no affection or comfort after a rough assignment, no one to care for and spoil.

And he wanted that.

“A surname to that, John?” you asked, sliding your hand through the loop he created with his elbow. Holy shit, he was strong. Your hand rested on the soft but well-built muscle of his bicep. You figured he must have a labor-intensive job, or he goes to the gym frequently. John didn’t seem like the type to spend hours at the gym in his spare time, so you went with the first option. You’d keep that in mind when making small talk later.

“John Price.”

“Very regal name.”

John scoffed but laughed nonetheless. “That’s the first time I’ve heard that.”

John couldn’t take his eyes off of you. You were unbelievably bubbly, especially for interacting with a stranger who only gave back your forgotten cardigan. He’d been watching you from his spot at the bar, laughing with your friends but zoning out every once in a while. He was no stranger to giving himself a mental break, particularly in a hectic environment like a packed bar on a cool, Friday evening.

“I’ll call you when I need a ride!”

You and John watched the giggly group exit the pub, happily waving as they piled into a cab. You waved back with your free hand, your other palm still pressed against his warm skin. They didn’t embarrass you too badly, thank god. You met John’s eyes, a dark color twinkling with mischief.

“Your friends seem chipper.”

“I’m so sorry. They’re just happy to see me talking to a man.” 

“Oh? Is that right?” he chuckled, nodding to your previously held table. John broke away briefly to retrieve his unfinished drink and denim jacket from the bar.

You followed his lead back to the booth, attempting to keep control of the flush you felt beginning to heat your cheeks. “They’ve set me up on many an unfortunate date. Not saying I don’t get along fine on my own, but–”

“It’s rough out there?” he finished, sliding into the cushioned seat across from you. When you nodded in return, John smirked. “Believe me. I get it. My career makes it difficult to find time for much of anything.”

“Yeah, well, I have sixteen kids.”

The man sputtered, choking on what looked to be an old-fashioned. Possibly a bad joke, but it was such a great opportunity; you were feeling frisky, and you couldn’t help the giggles that erupted following his reaction. “I teach history for year thirteen.”

“Oh, thank Christ.” John wiped the cocktail off his lip with the back of his hand, shaking his head at your laughter. “You had me going there. Five minutes into our date, and I’ve made a mess of myself.”

You quirked a brow. “So this is a date?”

“Isn’t it?”

“Well, I would consider it light conversation. Getting to know each other.”

“That’s a date.”

“Mmm, I’d say it’s more casual than that.”

“I’m not looking for casual, love.”

You paused, examining his calm demeanor. He didn’t seem cocky, but honest, a welcome change to the pattern you’d observed over the last few months. None of your dates had been so bold as to know what they want and make their intentions clear. Especially not so quickly. It was refreshing.

“Me neither.”

“Good.”

You both sat in peace, pausing your conversation for the waitress. You ordered another drink, as promised, and folded your hands on the tabletop, fingers laced. “So, what do you do, John?” you asked, tapping your thumbs together.

“I’m in the military.”

You paused, expectantly waiting for him to continue, only to be met with silence.

“Care to elaborate?”

He tutted once with his tongue pressed against the back of his teeth. “I would love to, but I can’t.”

Interesting. Normally, resistance like that would be a red flag. On the other hand, his job could be “classified” or whatever is said in the movies. No alarms went off in your mind; your intuition told you that John was trustworthy, so you let it go. The pretty brunette dropped your new drink off and another for John.

“I can tell you that I’m a Captain.”

“So you have pretend kids too?”

His eyes crinkled at the corners as he hummed, swirling the whiskey in his glass. A slight tinge of the citrus notes from the expressed orange peel wafted across the table. John’s laugh was distinctive, chesty and rumbly, inviting. “Of course. Mine are bigger, though, I’m sure.”

“Oh? They’re not scrawny little soldiers?”

“No. One’s almost two meters tall.”

“Jesus. How many?”

“Five. Gaz, Ghost, Soap, Alex, and Farah.”

“Well, I for one can’t wait to meet them.”

“Likewise.”

You fussed with your hair for about the thousandth time in your bathroom mirror and huffed when it wouldn’t settle right. John was to meet you in about fifteen minutes. Knowing him, that meant he would be buzzing up to your apartment any second. You’d been on a few dates and knew his date habits pretty well. If you’re not fifteen minutes early, you’re late. You had been out to dinner, grabbed coffee once or twice; you even grabbed an ice cream. So, it was a surprise when John suggested a trip to the museum. It didn’t seem like his thing, but you weren’t about to turn down a trip to the history exhibit.

As you expected, a familiar BZZT BZZT reverberated through your flat, signaling his arrival. The first time he picked you up, you let him into the building without using the intercom. You tried explaining that the speaker broke and your landlord had yet to fix it (shocker), but John wouldn’t hear it. You could have been letting in a random creep pressing buttons until some tenant unlocked the door. He insisted on creating a little system, so you would know it was him downstairs and not a kidnapper. From then on, he always rang the bell twice.

You gave up on your hair, switched the light off, and paged him in. Your unit was on the first floor (which wasn’t ideal), so it only took John a few seconds to reach your door. When you heard a knock at your door, you peered through the peephole (as promised) before unlocking the deadbolt, revealing a very well-dressed captain. John’s hair was a bit shaggy, but it suited him well. Your heart fluttered helplessly at the bright smile that appeared when he laid eyes on you, his gaze obviously taking in the sight before him.

It was a weeknight, and you didn’t have time to change between school and your usual errands. You threw a plaid skirt, thigh-high socks, and loose sweater together; just a sliver of skin showed between the top of your socks and hem of your skirt. You felt underdressed compared to John, but there wasn’t much you could do about it. 

“Hi,” he said, leaning to kiss your cheek. “You look lovely.”

“Same to you. You always clean up well.”

“If you saw the state I’m usually in at work – you’d understand why.”

John kept a watchful eye to make sure you turned both locks for your door before guiding you outside to a waiting taxi with a hand on the small of your back. He held the door to your building and the car open for you. The drive was short, but the weather was starting to catch a bit of a chill, and you didn’t want to walk too far.

Ever the gentleman, the captain followed closely behind you up the steps to the gallery. Even if he weren’t perceptive, with years of experience reading people, he could tell you were excited to be there; however, he wasn’t so experienced in the ‘romance’ department. John honestly couldn’t even remember the last time he visited any museum, let alone a dedicated history exhibition. But when he suggested it and assured you that he would have a good time, he was only being partially truthful. Secretly, the man just wanted an excuse to listen to you talk. What better place to bring you than an exhibit where he knew you would talk his ear off for hours?

You slowly worked your way through each exhibit, explaining some pieces you recognized and their significance to the period; at displays you weren’t familiar with, you both quietly hovered closer to the title cards, reading through the description. While that kind of date wasn’t John’s usual cup of tea, he was glad he planned it; it helped him figure out how to slow the fuck down and try to be normal outside of a military setting or a pub.

His breath nearly stuttered every time you laid a gentle hand on his arm and drew his attention to the next section, beaming as you animately but quietly pointed out the tiny details in a Renaissance painting hung on the wall. The man couldn’t help but stare at how your lips curved at every syllable, wide eyes glued on the intricate scene portrayed. John hadn’t spoken much so far aside from the occasional affirmation that he was listening; he was very much in his head, unsure if you were excited to be there with him or just excited to be there. But, standing in front of the big painting, you went quiet. You met his gaze, and his lips pulled into a lopsided grin, which you returned before you both shifted back to the artwork. It was peaceful, absorbing the atmosphere and just existing together. Suddenly, John was jolted out of his reverie by the feeling of something brushing the side of his palm. 

You were itching to hold his hand all night but were too nervous to take that leap. What if he rejected you? That wasn’t likely after so many dates, but still. Your nerves got the better of you for the better half of the self-guided tour. Regardless, you had managed to work up the courage, cautiously grazing your pinky against his wrist and hand before wrapping it around his. You didn’t look away from the illustration, but he did, moving to you, then down to your hands.

He simply stared for a moment, surprised but positively giddy at the same time. Surely enough, John took your hand in his, interlocking your fingers and leaning just a bit closer to you. He could stand there forever, basking in your warmth and energy, the sound of your voice sinking into his every thought–

“Oh no,” you said, breaking the silence. You looked up at him worried, wrinkles forming between your brows. “I-I’m sorry. I was teaching again.”

He immediately gave you a reassuring squeeze, thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Don’t be. I like hearing you talk.” Jesus, did he have a way with words. He liked hearing you talk? With that accent, he could spew nonsense, and it would still draw you in. But hearing John Price give you compliments and praise? Flattery? You were a goner. “Tell me more about the next one?”

As if he could get any more fucking perfect.

“Okay.”

Copyright © 2023 as-is-above-so-below. All rights reserved.

[angelatsumu]

secrecy. [j. price]

in which captain price denies his love for you publicly, and that doesn't go over well.

cw: angst (a tiny bit...like it's a little hurtful), SMUT, minors kick rocks DNI, price called daddy but is very switch/sub here, knife play, afab!reader, sorta toxic behavior (don't deny your spouse for a bit of approval with your friends bro), blood play a tiny bit, riding, overstimulation, not proofread

“there’s simply nothing worth settling down for lads. end of discussion.” your teeth met the inside of your cheek to stave off the grimace that fought to surface. your lover, the man you called your husband, had the audacity to allow such foolishly indignant words slip from his liquor laced tongue. the gall of the man who’d insisted you make him the happiest man on earth, the one who’d spent hours practicing his speech in the mirror, was something you’d found quite unexpected. to allow such insanity slip from those precious lips you kissed every morning was far more than an insult to your heart; it broke your pride. you’d pridefully and proudly called yourself the captain’s wife, head held higher than it had been before the silly ring on your finger. it was one thing to keep your marriage a secret—that you two had agreed upon—but to admonish your place in his heart? that was unmistakably cruel. your eyes met your lover’s as the men seemed to light-up at his words, applauding him for his dedication to the taskforce and military business. the display only made you want to revolt even more.

the drive home was quiet. normally you’d pretend to be a bit too drunk so that price could pretend to chivalrously take you to your apartment, but tonight you felt no need for such a foolish charade. there was simply no scent for your fellow task force members to follow because john had snuffed out that flame with his foolish banter. you sat bitterly brewing in your misery, flames of wicked jealousy licking at your heels with each passing moment. john could feel it radiating from you, the air too thick for him to swallow as he pridefully refused to concede and beg for forgiveness. the sheer thought of your husband standing by his bravado-littered statements covered you in a figurative sheen of vengeance. you were desperate for the opportunity to right him, to make him eat every little word he’d muttered. you had half the mind roll out of the moving car right this moment, but you decided against such reckless antics. instead, you’d decided to kickstart his own descent into delirium. there was nothing more tantalizing to your husband than making love to you, and perhaps that is where your edge lied.

the sight below you was gloriously sinful. your lover with flushed cheeks and tear-speckled eyes, precious blade of your combat knife nestled just beneath his jaw. your hand could slip and it would bring scarlet red droplets to the surface, giving him a closer shave than he’d bargained for. he knew this, and the thought made his cock stir inside your velvety walls. with each teasing roll of your hips a whimper fled john’s lips, soft pleas for your mercy. his eyes glistened at you as though you hung the stars, just as they were designed to. pressing the knife’s blade ever-so-lightly, you lifted your hips high enough that only the tip remained encased in your plush cunt. the action causes your husband’s brows to knit together as you hover there with the cruelest scowl you can manage. “please, love. ‘m sorry, daddy’s sorry,” he all but whimpers, hips stirring before halting at the feel liquid running down the side of his neck. you scoff at him, eyes narrowing as you lean closer to the object of your affection. your lips hover above his, breath fanning over his skin. “yeah? daddy’s sorry, hm?” he nods eagerly, knicking himself again in dumb desire to please you. you dip your head into the crook of his neck, deft tongue licking a stripe along the path of the stray droplet of blood. the action of ownership leaves your husband dizzy as an uncontrolled whimper leaves his lips. you hum, wicked grin pulling at your lips as you plop yourself down onto him. the fat of your ass claps against his thighs, and your head falls back at the feeling of being so full. you groan, rolling your hips forward just enough to catch your clit on the ridge of his pelvis. john’s hands instinctively move to clutch your hips, and you tut at him amusedly.

your cunt was driving john to insanity, and you weren’t too far behind him. the pace you’d set was increasingly tiring, but your abdomen continued to be set aflame with carnal desire. the clap of your ass against your husband’s lap resounded through the room as you fucked yourself—and him—stupid on his girthy length. orgasm after orgasm had rushed over the two of you, yet your desire for more never wavered. your grip on your beloved knife had since loosened enough that there was no true threat, though the thrill remained. your husband was beautifully fucked beneath you, lip quivering as his eyes struggled to stay open. your tight heat felt torturous, the sensation of your walls griping him like a vice bringing him to tears. your eyes intently glared down at your man, as much as you could while being fucked open. “can’t take anymore, love,” your husband whimpers, hands gripping your hips harshly as he weakly attempted to slow your movements. you huffed at him, hand moving to grip his jaw and force his gaze to yours. your gaze made his cock stir inside your plushy cunt. “you can take it,” you spat at him, squeezing his jaw at the hinges to force his mouth open. without thought you spat into your lover’s mouth, riding him with more tenacity as you felt your high approaching. “oh fuck,” he whined, head falling back from your gasp as you milked him for his last orgasm of the night. “you look at me when I fucking cum, and you remember who you settled down with, john,” you scold him, tugging on his dog tags to force him to meet your view again. the sight before you was picture worthy, pitiful fucked out captain gazing at you like you hung the stars in the sky; to him, you did. your orgasm swept you in a vicious wave of euphoria, thighs trembling as you moaned softly over your lover. the cant of your hips slows as you ride out your high, sweat-coated body leaning to press flush against his. john sighs, arms wrapping around you as he babbles apologies into your chest and neck. “never mean’ it, never say it again” he babbles softly, and you’re certain some of his brain oozed out from his ears with how thoroughly you’ve fucked him. with a sigh you untangle yourself from him, peering softly into his beautiful eyes before leaning to pepper kisses along his face. “i love you, John. thank you for letting me have this,” you hum softly. truly he could’ve called off the whole encounter, but he allowed you this relief. oh, what a lover you have.

likes + coments + rbs always appreciated <3 thx

[zmbieslxt]

Puppy Love Masterlist

Story — dog hybrid!141 x handler!reader — Enjoy

Summary: Task Force 141 receives a new member in their task force that Laswell claims will only make them better. They try to be positive — at least Johnny and Kyle do — until they learn that their new member is a handler.

The four dogs must deal with this incessant training and rules until Laswell deems them ready but, what if they don't want the handler to leave just yet?

Pairing: 141 x reader, John x Kyle, Simon x Johnny

Warnings: NSFW Content, explicit smut, afab!reader, hybrids, incorrect military terminology and information, knotting, biting, ruts, oral (m & f receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, ruts, blood, violence, age differences, angst with no comfort, comfort/hurt. Johnny is an Australian Shepherd, Simon is a German Shepherd, John is a Saint Bernard, and Kyle is an Irish Setter.

English is not my first language!

!! Minors do not interact !!

Chapter One

Coming Soon

[kismetarchive]

John prides himself in his professionalism but that professionalism wavered when he met his major's sweet eldest daughter.

cw: captain john price x fem!reader

John didn't become a captain through some stoke of luck. He clawed his way to the top — created a name for himself through sheer hard-work. Very few people could command him in the SAS, and one of those people was your father.

Your father was respected and feared, loved and detested — a man that made it to the top of the food chain with heavy scars to prove his worth.

You tagged along with your mother and father to some social event since your day was free while your little sisters went out with their friends. It's not like you had anything better to do so why not join them?

You smiled at every single one of your father's subordinates, noting how they all seemed to cower away and treated you like you were some bomb waiting to explode. It made a pout form on your face, feeling a bit frustrated that everyone thought you were like your gruff father.

Except one man. Captain price.

Not only did his warm smile make your heart leap out of your chest, but when he willingly extended his hand for a handshake and then kissed your knuckles — you became a puddle on the floor.

John knew the correct approach would have just been acknowledging his major's daughter but you were so pretty: your pretty navy blue blouse and chic white skirt that cut off at your thighs had his eyes glued to you. He swore you had a halo behind your head and a pair of white wings on your back — you looked so heavenly he would've fallen on his knees to worship you if you guys weren't at this event.

His boys could easily see the bewitched look on their captains face, teasing him and making smug remarks all throughout the night.

"The captains found a pretty bird, eh?"

He didn't care if you were the major's sweet daughter — he heard the soft gasp that came out your lips when his lips pressed against your skin and he knew he was going to be yours.

(Your dad was just happy that you picked one of his captains and not some snappy recruit)

「 Masterlist ❤︎ 」

[tojisun]

"do you like it like this, love?"

is something price murmurs when he fingers you :(( his lips are pressed along your tear-stained cheek, the scruff of his beard feels so ticklish. you mewl out your whimpers, quiet hiccups passing between your trembling lips.

a particular curl makes you gasp, your legs squeezing close at the sudden rush of euphoria.

"shh," john croons, rubbing his thumb along your folds, expertly avoiding our hardened clit. "open y'r legs again f'me, love. c'mon."

he coaxes you with his touch, his voice, his soft kisses. when you shake your head in reply, too overwhelmed with pleasure to speak, john just doubles his efforts; quiet pleas lilting from the base of his throat, his tongue heavy in his mouth.

he is just so soft. so patient.

(he will draw out the foreplay even when you're shaking in his hold, your eyes full of tears, and your body racked with oversensitivity. when you beg him to fuck you, to "please, john. please stuff me," john just nuzzles his nose on your cheek and curls his fingers in your cunt again.

it makes you sob because the realization finally descends on you—john was preparing you for a scene.)

[the-californicationist]

he helps you study

After agreeing to let him use you whenever he wants, Captain Price fucks you freely while you’re studying, making you read your chapter out loud.

Warning: Free use, prior explicit consent, domination

Two more chapters and you’d finally be done. This statistics class was killing you, and going back to school after having already been in the workforce for so long had made it even harder. There were discussion questions due tomorrow, and you needed to finish them tonight. 

You heard the door to your bedroom creak open, and John’s heavy footsteps padded on the carpet. 

Glancing over your shoulder, you gave him a half-smile,

“Hey, honey. I’m not finished yet, but I’ll be there soon. I know you wanted to watch a movie. I’m sorry I -”

You felt his hands pull your pajama shorts and underwear down to your thighs in one, rough movement.

“Hey! I don’t have time for this. What are you -”

“Read. Your. Book,” his voice was so close to your ear, and the way he bullied you with the weight of his body on your back made your breath catch in your throat. 

You heard the tell-tale jingle of his belt buckle. Then the zipper. Turning your attention back to the book was impossible. He noticed your distracted look and sank a fingertip into your pussy, playing gently at your entrance, convincing it to swell, anticipating his cock. 

“I told you to read, sweetheart. Out loud.”

You swallowed, trying to find your place on the page, 

“Chapter 12. Misuse of statistics can produce subtle but serious errors in description and interpretation…“

You felt his weight crush the mattress. Your captain was situated behind you. He spread your legs open and pulled your hips back, lifting your ass up in the air. The cool air of the room rushed over your exposed flesh. You felt his mouth begin to lick your folds, not for your pleasure but for his. 

“…subtle in the sense that even experienced professionals make such errors…oh, shit, John,” you cried out from the feel of his tongue as it laved through your folds. 

He stopped eating you, and you felt him lean forward. Then, his cockhead was prodding at your hole. He was wetting it with your own fluids, using his dick like a paintbrush before pushing forward into your tight, unprepared walls. 

“Ahh, honey, wait!” You tried to slow him down, looking back at him.

What you saw when you turned around was a warning. You had agreed to free use after he had asked you for it, and he had warned you about his rules. He would take you, whenever, wherever, and however he wanted, and you were not to complain. You had to use the safe word. 

You didn’t use it, squeezing your eyes shut in a pleasurable kind of pain, returning to your book,

“…and serious in the sense that they can lead to devastating decision errors. For instance,” you had to stop again. 

You couldn’t continue. His cock felt too damn good. You were moaning, feeling yourself being stretched out by your captain, experiencing a sudden flood of wetness as your body attempted to accommodate its favorite guest. 

“For instance, what, pretty girl?” He asked cruelly, fitting the tip of his thumb into your asshole as he pounded himself forward, slamming his weight into you, stretching both of your holes.

You were struggling to concentrate, and the words came out in strained, staccatoed bursts,

“For instance, social policy, medical practice, and the reliability of structures like bridges all rely on the proper use of statistics…”

John fucked you faster, shaking the bed, grunting and moaning without shame, gripping onto your hips fiercely and without mercy. You could feel how impossibly hard he was. His thickness overwhelmed you even with lube and plenty of foreplay. Like this, raw and sudden, it was enough to make you drunk on his lustful work. 

“Keep reading, love. This tight little cunt is gonna make me come,” he growled low and tense through his clenched jaw, using his thumb to push deeper into your sensitive ass. 

“Even when statistical techniques…” you whispered, incapable of projecting your voice without it turning into a wanton moan. 

“That’s it, baby, that’s it. Good girl,” he took his thumb away in order to play with your rigid clit. It sent sparks through you, making you clench down around him. He groaned louder.

You tried to read, not wanting to displease your captain, trying to be a good girl, just for him. Whatever he wanted, you were eager to give it. 

“…are correctly applied…”

“God fuckin’ damnit! That’s what I want, love. Come for me. Squeeze this cock for me. That’s it. That’s it, babe,” John leaned forward, his chest pressing down on your back, fucking you like a hound, his other hand grasping the sheets as he tried to hold his full weight off of you. 

He knew exactly how you liked your pussy to be played with. His hands were huge, and his long fingers could apply the most delicious pressure against your swollen folds, making your legs tremble and shake. 

“…the results can be difficult…” 

You couldn’t breathe. You came so hard that you saw stars, keeping yourself from moaning to give him the obedience he was craving. He screamed loud enough for the both of you, pumping harder and harder into you like a steel piston, spilling inside of you in hot, thick ropes. 

“…to interpret.”

You were both panting, ragged and well-used. He pulled himself out of you as slowly as he could, setting your legs back down, and leaving you on the bed, wet and soaking in his come. You heard his belt buckle clinking again, being fastened by its panting owner. He pulled your panties back up, making sure to scoop his escaped come back into the fabric so it would smear against your lips. Then, your shorts, positioned on your waist with care. 

Closing the door to the bedroom, John left you there, holding your textbook, shaking like a leaf. 

[harveywritings92]

R/n, to Ghost: So... When were you planning on telling me you’re a vampire?

Ghost: Honestly, I was kind of under the impression that you already knew... You know... given your own nature.

R/n:...My what?

Ghost: Don’t play coy, yer a vamp too.

R/n: Uh, no I’m not.

Ghost: Yes, the hell you are I can smell it.

Soap [werewolf]: I think yer nose is broken.

König [werebear]: Ja, she’s a Vere-animal like us!

Soap: Right!

R/n: Wait, y-You guys are-

Gaz [Elf]: No! Your all wrong, look at that point on her ears! she’s obviously an Elf!

R/n, fidgets with her ears: My ears???...an Elf? What-

[R/n looks at everyone baffled that they were all monsters, as the monster men bicker with each other on what she was, Price does the smart move and just takes R/n to a fairy doctor to figure it all out.]

R/n, glaring down at her results: What the hell?! This is bull-crap dude!

[Turns out R/n is a chimera. But instead of inheriting all the badass powers and monsters features from her supernatural DNA donors the genes cancelled each other out; making her no different from any other human...] 

[percy-puppy]

Headcanon: Thinking of the 141!men having an afab!partner with body hair.

About: CoD Men || Task Force 141

CW: 18+ Blog/Post | MDNI, afab!reader, reader with body hair, pubic hair, talks about bullying in school, judgment, puberty, insecurity, sex (oral/reader receiving, PIV/penetrative sex, switch!dynamic, body worship, s&m), hair pulling, not proofread

A/N: Anyone else struggling with posting on the smartphone app? Like Tumblr? What's going on? Anyway, this is for my bestie who ranged about the lack of representation. @mothymunson 💕

🎀Price: Price is a hairy, hairy man. God, he is so fuzzy, and it's so hot. Obviously, he doesn't care if his partner is hairy, either. It would be hypocritical of him, really. In fact, he would be an encouraging force. It's lots of work to keep shaved and smooth, and should you feel comfortable with just no longer shaving, then why not? He is happy when you are, and just because society expects something doesn't mean you have to obey. Price would support it fully, showering you with praise as you unlearn the old “values” taught from a way too early age and drop the trauma all the comments in your puberty gave you when body hair became more prominent. He teaches you a new, healthy form of confidence and, in the shortest time, “It's just hair, love.”

🎀Soap: Johnny is… Let's be honest; that man is a feral mutt. He might shave sometimes, not often, though honestly, but body hair on his partner? He can't explain it, but that bush gets him going. He is one to drop the “the wilderness must be explored” sentence when you first get together and are insecure about his reaction. He will beg you to let him eat you out, swearing on everything that's holy to him that he doesn't mind your pubic hair at all. And, damn, he isn't lying. He doesn't care, although he does—It makes him feral. The following hours are spent with the scot’s head between your legs. Also, before you bother to worry, a hair on his tongue will just be removed, “It's locks, bonny. Happens sometimes,” he’d laugh, and go back to work, nose buried in your hair as he sucks on your clit.

🎀Gaz: That boy is always shaved. It's his personal preference. When you first mention your difference (cause a man with a negative reaction isn't even worth your time), he is surprised. It's not in a bad way, though. He just knows enough people are giving in to the pressure of shaving. He is curious, ashamedly so. You see, the curiosity effect when somebody tells you they have a piercing down there? That's what it feels like for him now. He’d sheepishly ask to take the next step, unsure what he even expects since it's just hair at the end of the day. But once you take things to the next level, it suddenly clicks. It's your confidence—the raw, unashamed, natural being. You're unashamedly yourself, every imperfection perfection, and your most potent weapon. When he hit puberty, he was insecure for a long time before he had his glow-up. He was never tall or beefy enough, just always picking himself apart by comparing himself to others. Today, he is confident as hell, but the 13-14-year-old boy he once was would be on his knees worshipping a person like you, just fully defying social expectations. He always felt a little bit like worshipping you, but your naked form bouncing on top of him absolutely breaks him. He babbles praises between panting and moaning, hands moving over every inch of your body. “You're so hot. Shit, don't stop, you're just so- fuck. Fuck me. God, please.” He did not know he was a switch, and all he needed was a confident partner.

🎀Ghost: Simon isn't nearly as hairy as the other men. He sometimes trims his pubic hair, but mostly, he just isn't hairy enough to even care about it. He also doesn't care about your hair. It's just hair. But at night, his sadistic side comes through. During sex, he will tug on your bush for fun, sometimes just shortly before slapping your tit, sometimes he’ll just pull and pull like a maniac while fucking into you. The delicious pain sends electric shocks through your sobbing cunt as he pounds you toward orgasm. Should you ever shave or trim it, he will most definitely pout a little as he lost his favorite toy. Thankfully it's just hair, it’ll grow back, and until then, he’ll focus on slapping your clit and pulling your nipples. It's okay. He’ll survive.